


the monster under the sink

by Hydra_Trash_Gal



Series: Winter’s Keepers [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, HYDRA Husbands, HYDRA Trash Party adjacent, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rumrollins, Split Personalities, domestic fic, low calorie angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 09:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17180129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hydra_Trash_Gal/pseuds/Hydra_Trash_Gal
Summary: no where is safe when you’re ex-Hydra agents and an unexpected early morning visitor never leads to anything good.orwinter got scared and went where he felt safe and Brock and Jack always take care of their asset no matter how inconsiderate their arrival is.





	the monster under the sink

It was one of those frigid December mornings, uncharacteristically cold really.

The window was webbed with frost but it was too cold to snow. The early morning sun was chalk full of deceit. Outside there was nothing but the bite of 17 degree weather. Brock wouldn't budge, not when he had cocooned himself so perfectly in the bed, so fetching the paper before the shitty neighbor did fell on Jack's shoulder. Brock had muttered angrily at the loss of his personal furnace before he rolled into the warm spot in the bed where Jack had been prior.

They had come a long way. From the military to Hydra and now back somewhere close to redemption. A new start at the very least. Jack had Brock and that was what mattered most. Jack hesitated beside the bed at the tuff of hair poking up from the worn quilt Jack's mother had sent them along with her pleas of visiting. 

Jack didn't want to face her, not after the things he had done. She wasn't mad 'just disappointed' and fuck if that didn't whisk him back his childhood where he got caught past curfew and got a lecture via sign from his parents.

Still, he loved Brock who was crude and loud and angry and passionate and beautiful when he cried. The path he took wasn't a righteous one but it did lead him to Brock so clearly something had fallen into alignment. "It's fuckin' cold Jackie," Brock mumbled, half awake. "Get back in bed."

"Paper. Coffee. Breakfast." It was already pushing six. Years of early rising did not change for him. 

"Fuck. You." Brock pulled the blanket of his head. "Go then, jackass. I'll freeze by myself."

"It's not that cold," Jack stepped into his pants as Brock popped his head out with a cold glare of indignation. "You're just whiny."

"Fuck you, it is cold. And you won't let me turn up the goddamn heat — "

Jack's eyes narrowed. Brock had full run and control of a lot of things but no one touched the goddamn thermostat. "It's perfect," he countered coldly. "I find your fingers on it, I break them."

Brock mustered a wounded look. "Go away," he curled back up. "Keep your shitty paper and coffee and breakfast."

Jack smiled and ruffled the already bed-mussed quiff of hair. "Whatever you say darling." Brock cracked open a weary eye to glare sleepily at him.

"It wasn’t so goddamn cold, I'd shove that paper up your ass." Brock shivered dramatically, in Jack's opinion and then pled, "Come back to bed."

"You're being a dick. Why would I do you any favors?" And the neighbor would steal their paper. Jack had done plenty of bad things to good people and even worse things to bad people but no one was evil enough to have their morning paper swiped. "Waffles?"

Brock made a noncommittal noise already on the verge of falling asleep. Brock had a firecracker temper. He went off wild pretty quickly but he extinguished himself pretty easily. Jack shrugged into a hoodie and braved toward the door.

There was a significant temperature drop once he left the bedroom. Icy hardwood seeped through his socks. Brock would whimper and prance around like a goddamn diva once he got up and then maroon himself on the couch, wrapped up in that ratty black blanket that Jack hated but Brock loved until he wore Jack down enough to fiddle with the thermostat.

The rest of the place was calm and chilly just like it was supposed to be until he stepped into the kitchen on his journey to the front door. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. Brock had gotten under the sink for something and left all the cleaning supplies in a neat stack beside them. 

Then Jack frowned. 

Brock didn't leave anything neat unless Jack was hovering over his shoulder bitching at him to do it right. As he was piecing together that small inconsistency he got a cold cross breeze: the fire escape window was cracked, just enough for the curtains to flutter a bit. Jack's insides iced over as muscle memory kicked in.

They wouldn't ever shake free of Hydra and they weren't safe anywhere. Jack was a fucking moron to think so. He took a step back, footfalls silent as he retreated back the way he came. There was a gun in both nightstands — old habits, he supposed. Brock was snoring softly and Jack felt a bit sick. He couldn't let anything to happen to him. 

Without Brock he had nothing.

But Brock wasn't helpless and chances were they would be outnumbered. He clasped a hand over Brock's mouth and his eyes flew open, startled and furious before he caught the sign Jack made. He nodded once, curt and completely focused. 

Like that they were back on Strike, looking for a threat. Brock grabbed his gun and took lead: he had been Commander, it was only fitting. They checked each room, fingers on the trigger ready to go out in a fight if need be. Adrenaline fueled blood roared in Jack's ears as he scanned the living room for the third sweep. Nothing.

They hadn't been robbed, the TV was still here and so was that silly gaming system Brock had. Brock seemed just as confused as Jack was when he finally dropped out of a defensive stance and let out a sigh. "Maybe you left the window open last night?" Jack asked, voice a bit higher than normal. It still didn't feel safe. The space felt invaded. But there was no one else in the apartment. "Smoking?"

"Fuck you I told you I quit." Brock shivered and tucked the gun in the waistbands of the sweatpants and closed the window with a bang. They both tensed waiting for some hair-trigger to have been detonated but...the apartment was eerily still. "Maybe it's just coming loose."

"So you dug under the sink?"

Brock shook his head but his face colored a bit. "No? Maybe. I took half an ambien last night. Sometimes I wander." 

That was true but Jack typically noticed and led him back to bed Jack exhaled. That made more sense. "On the plus side you're up." He said cheekily which made Brock scowl. 

"Real funny asshole." He flipped off Jack and crouched in front of the cupboard. "And I expect waffles you — oh mother fucking Christ shit fuck." 

Brock leapt a near foot in the air, throwing the bottle of DrainO inside the cupboard as he made a dash toward Jack looking damn near cardiac arrest. He had the gun trained on the shadowy space just out of sight, finger ready to exterminate whatever threat awaited. "I didn't mean to scare you," the cupboard whispered and Jack's fight or flight finally kicked out of gear. 

He drew in a breath to steady himself. Brock was shaking as he tried to recover from the scare. "Winter, the fuck are you doing?" He rounded the cupboard heart hammering. 

The Soldier, once the definition of terrifying looked utterly pathetic. How he had managed to fold himself up into the space was a miracle all on its own, knees shoved against his chest as if he was hiding. His face was panic struck, probably because he thought Brock was angry. "I..." his brow furrowed as he seemed to try and sort through his words. He wasn't usually like this. In fact lately he'd been swinging by less and less. "Did something bad Agent Rollins."

Ah hell. Jack exhaled, slow and even. He could probably have ordered Winter to leave. There was a chance he would have obeyed. But the look of misery on his face was real. "How bad?" He prompted. 

Winter turned his face downward hiding behind his hair. He made a mournful noise and Jack realized there was blood on the metal hand. Rust color and oxidized but definitely blood. Jack didn't have time or energy to deal with a relapse or whatever the fuck the Soldier had done. And him coming here, hiding in their apartment made them look guilty.

They'd lucked out because everyone felt bad for super-soldier with amnesia. The guy who couldn't tie his own boots but if you said the right word could slaughter fifty men. But if he had gone back to Soldier mode... Jack's mouth felt dry. Brock had recovered now and came a bit closer. 

"Report," he ordered and Jack was impressed and disgusted by how easily the Commander tone came back to him. 

Winter's body seemed relax a bit then hunched up all over again and he whimpered shaking his head. "The fuck you mean 'no'?" Jack figured he might as well play along. Maybe they could weasel out what he'd done and get rid of the bodies. Hopefully it wasn't Rogers because that wouldn't be easy to explain.

"I..." Winter let out a wet gasp. Christ if he started to cry Jack was going to toss him out. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

The sobs were ragged and Jack felt his stomach clenching uncomfortably. He hadn't seen Winter like this in a long time and it had usually been during periods of confusion. Winter knew exactly why he was distraught and that was... heartbreaking. "Do you think sitting there bawling about it is gonna fix shit?" Brock, the ever callous fucker sneered. He bent down and reached to grab a handful of his hair. "Shut the fuck up Winter. Whatever you did, we might be able to fix. But you gotta tell us."

Winter looked like a dog that pissed on the carpet and knew full well you were gonna rub his snout in it. His eyes were downtrodden and his posture submissive. Brock tightened his hold to wrench his head up, ensuring eye contact was made. The techs used to say it was important to make sure he made eye contact. Something about remembering body cues or language or some other bullshit thing they thought made him handle better in the field. 

Jack did feel a little raw seeing Brock grabbing on Winter in such a violent manner but if there was a body bloating up in the Avengers Tower, they were running low on time. "I didn't mean to." It was stubborn now, a mantra to convince himself. 

Jack wanted to go back to bed and pretend that there wasn't a Winter under his sink. That would be best. Maybe he'd crawl back out once he realized he wouldn't get attention. Like a bug realizing it's food supply was out. Instead of a shiny shell, there was a shiny arm. It seemed fitting and implausible. They'd tried that during Winter's early adventures in breaking and entering. No amount of rude words, anger, threats or bargaining could keep him out. 

They could make him cry and he'd start to leave but then they'd realize they were complete douchebags and stop him. Most times he wanted stupid things from them. 'Tell me about that mission we did in the east. But not about the mission. About that game, with the cards. I want to show Steve." 

Brock used to say he was learning how to be real boy in a loud cruel tone when he knew Winter could hear and Jack always slugged him for it. Not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to hurt for a few hours. With the Soldier stripped from his identity, Winter really was gentle. It was fascinating and stomach churning all at once.

The man who could rip the head from a torso also loved sweet foods and being close to people. The boundaries talk had been necessary at that point. Jack thought he got it — it being Winter's strange attraction toward them. It seemed nonsensical to go back to two men who kept you captive and made you into a murderer.

Jack and Brock had used Winter in immoral ways and they were somewhat apologetic for it. They felt they deserved what they took and that was their cross to bare. But he still tried to curl up between them on the couch as if it had ever been acceptable in the field! The man was touch starved and took whatever he could. They felt guilty enough without having suffer the reminders of their actions.

Even with fat tears following glistening tear tracks, Winter or Barnes or whoever the fuck he had been before Hydra, was still unpredictable. Brock did have a good handle on him back in the day but now who knew. Winter may have been all doe-eyed at them because he actually remembered them but Jack knew that Rogers had a growing familiarity for both men. 

"I don't give a shit if you meant to do it. What did you do?" Brock grit out. The tendons on his wrist strained. "Soldat, comply."

Too far, Jack wanted to snap but Winter finally seemed to break out of his meltdown. "I struck Captain Rogers Commander." Still tear logged but significantly clearer. Winter had fixated a blank watery look on the far wall. "Because... It was my fault."

"What was your fault?" Brock let go and Winter showed no sign of noticing. "Tell me what you did and maybe I'll help you fix it."

The metal hand tightened into a fist. Normally Jack would have ensured there was space between them in case he flew off the handle but that wasn't very Avengers like. He was on the team now it seemed, occasionally caught on videos fighting like the Soldier would have. It made his stomach churn and also gave him a weird sense of pride. That was their Winter after all, helping the good guys.

"Can't fix it," Winter was whining again and Brock's jaw ticked. "I... It's not something you tell."

Jack tried to be democratic about it. "Okay, sure. But you can tell us. It'll be a confidential just like our mission reports, right?"

"Will you wipe me after?" Winter sounded horribly eager as he looked to Brock for an answer. "Please Commander. I don't want to think about hurting him anymore."

"Winter," Brock's tone was pleasant and that wasn't good. "Tell me what the fuck you did."

He tried to hide behind his hair but Brock caught him across the jaw with a back hand that made him cringe. Winter gasped, as if startled or offended and Jack wondered how long it'd been since someone struck the Winter Soldier. "It was okay at first. It's still okay," he was babbling now but that Brooklyn accident was seeping into his words. A lapse, they'd call it in the field. "Two fellas ain't supposed ta get that close but me and Stevie, it's different."

Jack choked and Winter, as if remembering the shame, looked stricken. "What did Rogers do to you?" Brock sounded ready to hunt down Captain America himself.

Of course some of the old handlers had seen an in with the highly suggestible Asset but Brock had put a hard stop to it once he got title of Commander. It was almost endearing to see him care so fiercely. 

Maybe he'd be a good dad — in another life time of course. 

Winter's neck was crimson. "I used to love him Commander," he confessed like he admitting to a truly heinous crime. Probably in their time it was. "Steve still loves me I think. I know. Or maybe I'm confused. I'm always confused."

He knit his fingers behind his hair and Jack's back began to ache from leaning forward so much. And his paper was probably gone. "Okay," Brock said evenly and Jack was impressed by the lack of inflection in his tone. He had always said Rogers was queer and Jack always reminded him 'so are you'. "So what happened then?"

"Some days it's like...like we're back before." It was just above a whisper. "Stevie kissed me coupla times an' it was good. But I got confused. I didn't know who — the mission Commander."

Brock scrubbed a hand over his face. "You completed it?" It was resigned and tired like he was already preparing for life on the run with an half-sane super soldier in tow. Fuck, that was their only option now, wasn't it?

"No!" Winter exhaled heavily seeming agitated. "I like Steve. Not like I used to. But...but I don't wanna hurt Stevie. And then I got confused and it... I didn't want to hurt him."

"Where's Rogers now?" Jack tried.

Winter whined again. "I hurt him." He shook his head furiously, like the thoughts should be flung away. "I'm...bad. I'm a bad person."

"Okay." Brock clapped his hands together. "Imma 'bout done with this shit. Did you kill him?"

With eyes as wide as a dinner plate, Winter had the audacity to look at Brock as if he was insane. "No." 

"Then go home." Brock snipped and Winter recoiled, eyes starting to water again. "Don't you dare start blubbering again Winter. Do Soldiers cry?"

With tears rolling down his cheeks he shook his head. Brock let out a sigh of exasperation and ran a hand through his hair. Jack crossed his arms, still uncomfortably chilly despite the window being closed. His eyes drifted toward the wall and suddenly he was considering Winter's murder. "Did you touch my goddamn thermostat?"

"I just want to go back into cryo." He sobbed. "I can't hurt anyone and when I come back out I won't remember."

Jack could have wrung his fucking neck if he didn't think Winter could snap him in half. He anxiously adjusted it and felt bad for making fun of Brock. The Soviet moron had turned it off completely. "So your plan was to crawl under my kitchen sink and freeze?" Brock sneered, "You're a fucking idiot."

The man under the sink didn't rise to the challenge, just bowed his head in acceptance to the insult. "If Rogers isn't dead, what's the problem?" Jack started a pot of coffee as the baseboards hummed to life. Warm air blew from the vent on the floor by the kitchen table and Brock inched toward it. 

"I hurt him." Winter shook his head miserably. "I can't go back. I'm dangerous."

"So you come to us?"

Winter made wary eye contact with Brock. "The Commander never let me hurt anyone unless they were Targets. You'll make sure Steve's safe from me."

"The hell I will. We talked about this Winter. You can't just bust into our house whenever you damn well please." Brock looked almost delicate the way he hovered around the vent, feet over the grate. "Damn near gave me a heart attack."

"I am proficient in first aid," Winter countered. "You're okay."

Brock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get out here and sit at the table. You on normal foods yet?"

Winter slipped out, unfolding long muscular limbs from the cramped space with ease. His bulk seemed to fill the entire kitchen and Jack was impressed all over again at his ability to fit in such a cramped area. "Steve makes oatmeal. I like sugar in it." Winter fidgeted looking down at the blood on his hand and light blue tee. There was a lot of it. "Steve will eat breakfast with Natalia I think. She...she was taking care of him. After I hurt him."

Jack hadn't signed up to play chef but if it moved Winter along a bit faster fine, he'd make some fucking instant oatmeal. He laid out the bowls and Brock took the cup of coffee, black, and frowned. "Whatever happened to my waffles?"

Winter perked up from where he was watching sugar dissolving into the pale mush. "Bruce makes really good pancakes and crepes." Like anyone fucking asked. "Steve put butter on mine."

If they were still on Strike it would have been absolute goddamn gold. Captain America in love with the Winter Soldier. Perfect irony. But seeing it unfold made Jack feel more uncomfortable. He felt bad for both men but mostly for Winter who had to fill the shoes of a man he didn't remember being. 

Also, fuck Rogers for taking advantage. And he was taking advantage of Winter in one way or another. The man didn't know what era is was half the time — he deserved whatever had happened to him. Winter had been used enough without someone doing it under the pretense of 'love'. 

"So, uh, Steve kisses you a lot huh?" Jack asked and fuck, he wished he didn't as soon as it came out of his mouth. If he didn't know, he didn't have to care.

Winter behind his hair. "Sometimes." He corrected. "Just...sometimes. Calls me 'Buck'. Sounds a lot like fuck. Do y'think he used to do that to me? Think he’ll do it to me when I get back cos I did a bad thing?"

Brock choked on his oatmeal and Winter looked frightened. He had no filter when he was the Asset, saying whatever thoughts managed to form in his half-fried brain. But it had gotten better, or so Jack thought as he smacked Brock on the back. "He better fucking not." Brock wheezed. His face was blotchy and Jack knew he was pissed. The kind of pissed where Jack had to hide all weapons and try and remind him how much prison would suck. 

"If he used to then... Barnes and him. I mean, me and him..." Winter looked so pitiful and confused. The spoon laid to the side, dripping a goop of oatmeal on the table. "He's done a lot for me. Made me better."

"No." Jack said sharply. "You don't owe him a fucking thing."

"I used to like him," Winter stressed eyes a bit cloudy. "I know I did. When he was... Before the serum."

"Just because you liked him a century ago doesn't mean you have to like him now." Brock said sharply. "You’re allowed to say no Winter.”

It was as if it had never occurred to him before. His brow furrowed in confusion and he mouthed the word a few times then began to shovel oatmeal into his mouth. Jack was fine with his coffee for now and a peek to the front porch showed an older man in a terry bathrobe trespassing. He grabbed the paper, looked around a bit and scurried back to his house. Fucking Winter. 

He turned to snap at him for making a mess on the table but instead got a dopey smile. Any anger died down. “Was it good?” 

“No.” Winter grinned and it was endearing and horrifying all at once. “Like that Commander?”

Brock was back to the grate. He shivered and inclined his head a bit. “Never been prouder of ya Winnie.” He grunted. “Now get your ass home and remember you can say no.”

“Okay. Thank you Agent Rollins. Thank you Commander.” He went toward the window and Brock held up a hand. “Oh right, the door.”

He turned on heel, waved farewell to Jack and finally the house was as it should be. Cold and maybe just a bit too empty.

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: this was not an Evil!Steve fic. Steve is, at this point, unaware that there is a difference between Winter and Bucky. This fic is based on the concept of a misunderstanding where Steve tries to kiss Bucky, as they typically do but instead it’s Winter and Winter reacts instinctively and punches him. 
> 
> So again, Steeb is good and sweet and Winter is a confused muffin. Protective RumRollins can’t help but assume the worse — Winnie has a rough time with Hydra after all.


End file.
